It’s official — The Adventures of KungFu Mike and the Magic Sunglasses has been released! You can find it on Amazon and at your local bookstore (if you don’t see it on the shelves, just ask them to order it).
You’re probably asking yourself “Didn’t Mike say this was going to be released on August 4th?” If you are, you’re absolutely right. This was supposed to be an August 4th release, but because the lady at the publisher told me to approve of everything early to allow for a potential 1-2 day lag period, I did just that, and the book became available literally three minutes later.
Not only was the unofficial release two days early and the official release one day early, but due to high demand, the pre-order books were only put in the mail to be sent to my house as of yesterday, which means it might take a little while longer for your signed copies to arrive.
All of that being said, I’ll send a mailing out tomorrow with your pre-order exclusive bonus story in PDF format (I think you guys will really like The Wrangler Wave), and another one to tell you when the signed books are headed your way.
This is the part where I’d normally tell you I have to go because I’m hungover and sunburned, but it’s a Monday morning during the summer, so you probably already knew that.
First thing’s first — the official release date for The Adventures of KungFu Mike and the Magic Sunglasses will be August 4th.
Now that that’s out of the way, I need your help. Don’t worry, it’s free and it takes three seconds of your time.
Since I’m self publishing The Adventures of KungFu Mike and the Magic Sunglasses, I’m in charge of pretty much everything — marketing, promotion, distribution, sales, basket weaving, baby smuggling — you name it. My budget for all of these things is smaller than your average bear’s, which means I have to get creative and leverage the network I already have (read: you) in order to get the word out about it. That’s where you come in.
I’m using a really cool service called Thunderclap to help generate a ton of exposure for the book on its August 4th launch date. It’s kind of like a Kickstarter, only instead of pledging your money, all you pledge is to post about my book on social media on August 4th.
You click the link below, decide what social media platform you want to use (Facebook, Twitter, etc.), and that’s it. On August 4th, Thunderclap will take all of your pledges, and post to your social media accounts all at the same time, creating a tidal wave of awesome that will hopefully result in the book getting loads of exposure it wouldn’t have gotten otherwise. Long story short, this could push me over the top.
This is a super big deal for me, so if you could take a quick second to sign up for this while you’re on the couch tonight, I’d really appreciate it.
After deciding I’d had enough to drink last night, I opened my fridge and made myself a HUGE Thanksgiving plate to bring into bed with me — turkey, stuffing, gravy, the works. Not just a little gravy, mind you. I was absolutely hammered and thinking to myself “turkey gets dry, so does stuffing. I should drizzle this with a shitload of gravy to compensate for that.” I did, and then I began walking up the stairs to the bedroom.
I’m always amazed to see so many people having animated conversations on cell phones during the early morning commute, not because they shouldn’t be driving with their cell phones raised to their ears, but because I can’t fathom why somebody would want to talk to another human being that early in the day.
Around one in the morning, Jess started grunting and flailing around in bed. After a few minutes, she sat up, whipped the comforter off and attempted to crawl over my broken leg, which was elevated on a pile of pillows. Jess talks in her sleep often, but this was the first time I’d experienced her sleepwalking in the nearly six years we’ve been together.
Me: “Jesus Christ, what are you doing? Go around my leg.”
Jess: “I have to…I have to…I have to…”
Me: “You have to what? Can I help you with something?” I clicked my reading light on.
Jess: “I have to slice.”
Me: “You have to what?!”
Jess: “I have to slice.”
Hoping she was talking about the soda or a bad golf swing and not the result of a knife sinking into husband meat, I watched as she stumbled out of bed, walked out of the bedroom, flicked the light on in the guest bedroom and stood in the doorway for a good ten seconds, staring into some strange world separated from ours by the veil of sleep.
Me: “Do you need something in there, babe?”
“That’s some kinda limp you got there.”
I was walking (or at least doing my best impersonation of walking) down a wood paneled corridor to my physical therapy appointment this morning when an old man heading in the opposite direction noticed I wasn’t operating at 100%. He wore Velcro sneakers, sweatpants and a dark sweatshirt under a winter jacket. The dry skin under his grey stubble sifted down to the neck of his sweatshirt and clung there like a dusting of Parmesan cheese on a black dinner plate. He used one hand to hold the corridor wall for support, while the other one gripped an adjustable cane with four non-slip rubber nubs on the bottom of it for added support. He was easily in his late eighties, and every movement he made was so slow and weighted that it seemed like he was walking underwater.
When I was six-years-old, my sister and I spent a week vising my dad. Dad and my sister decided they wanted to make a carrot cake for dessert one afternoon, so they went down to the grocery store for a box of Duncan Hines cake mix, a can of frosting, a carton of eggs and a bottle of vegetable oil.
When they came back, Dad promised I could help make it. I wasn’t a fan of carrot cake (I was and still am a loyal Funfetti man), but he knew I really liked working in the kitchen with him, so I was excited about it anyway.
“It says ‘stir by hand’” I loudly proclaimed from the red milk crate Dad dragged out so I could reach the kitchen counter, reading the instructions from the back of the box as if they would be utterly lost without them.
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Michael Albert Boulerice was born in Springfield, Massachusetts on June 16th, 1980. A few months after, he moved to coastal New Hampshire, where Michael has spent the bulk of his life living ever since.
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“Michael Boulerice is a truly gifted writer, turning what might otherwise just be an unfortunate, painful experience into comedy gold.”